


and release;

by Quadrantal



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I Tried, Non-Explicit Sex, PWP, but with characterization??, i bathe in the tears of clintasha shippers, i watched aou, non-age of ultron compliant, so i did this, this is my response to the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:13:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3875221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quadrantal/pseuds/Quadrantal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this is their debriefing. | <i>clint, natasha, and an abandoned warehouse</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	and release;

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LMPandora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMPandora/gifts).



> _dedicated to bros miya and miles for letting me share the emotions of a shipper unmoored_

this is their debriefing: in an abandoned warehouse against the corrugated metal wall, his bow and arrows discarded but within arm's reach, her gun still in its holster. clint would make an inane comment about puns; she doesn't give him the chance to speak, yanking him down for a rough kiss that really isn't a kiss at all but a press of hungry mouth, a swipe of tongue, the pressure of teeth. he smells of blood and gunpowder, heady, an adrenaline high like flirting with death — his rough fingertips sweeping down her neck, his thumb resting in the hollow between her collarbones.

he hitches her leg up; she lets him. he presses against the cradle of her thighs and she can already feel him wanting, wanting it too with a sudden fierce wave that catches her breath. she winds one arm over his shoulder, the crook of her elbow resting against his neck. he grinds against her, his muscles corded beneath her touch.

she wants to unzip his body suit, to take it off, tear it apart, see the planes and dips of his skin and touch them, feel him, experience him as her present, the _right now_ in a continuum of the ungraspable, him definite and certain and concrete: the width of his shoulders, the strength in his arms, the muscles of his abdomen.

he undoes hers instead, peeling if off her body until she is bare to her hips, fingers brushing the underside of her breast, of her navel, his thumb skimming over the edge of the blade concealed against her hip, the gun by her thigh. even if he takes her weapons and throws them all away, she will not be unarmed. he doesn't try, his hands moving over all the things she keeps close, over all those sharp points, caressing them as if he is touching parts of her too.

tonight is a brief encounter, a rushed struggle for some semblance of rapture where it could be found. it's easy to unfasten his pants; she knows his secret hooks and clasps and undoes them with a fluid familiarity that brings her flesh to slide against his — a thrust of his hips, a cant of her pelvis, and he is inside her fueling a burning ache that slowly unfurls.

they move in graceless synchronicity, a rhythm they set devoid of words and promises. he grits his teeth and she knows he is near and he knows she is close so he strokes her clit, and they omit empty assurances in the heat of a moment that could very well be their last.

he is solid, real, and in a place deserted enough, empty enough, she can allow herself to arch her back and reach for that counterpoint to his pressure, to grasp it in her hands and _pull_ and claim it as her own — _to own it_ — that pleasure-pain shooting through the eons of her body beginning from their points of intersection, a climax to their crescendo. he catches it within her, with her — their finale. he presses his cheek against her temple, breathes her scent in.

sex is her weapon, her body honed as an instrument to use pleasure as a means to an end. in this warehouse, with clint and his arms and his calloused hands, it is her truth.

this is not about love, not anything intangible and unreal. this is a release, a mutual gain amidst a field of losses in a running ledger smeared with blood-red tally marks against them.

and in their world where there are no happy endings they might as well take what they can get.

(afterwards, they slide apart. he reaches for his bow and arrows, an arm's length away. she touches her gun, still in its place. they leave nothing and in the darkness, and the dust settles back into place.)


End file.
